


To Be Nothing

by AmunetMana



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Gen, Imprisonment, reeducation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4268157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmunetMana/pseuds/AmunetMana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meetings that will never happen:</p><p>The Condesce meets a young jadeblood who dares to say that the Empress is not as powerful as she thinks - that the men of the colder castes work under her nose to give themselves more power than she.</p><p>The Condesce is not without a sense of humour - and the idea is laughable indeed. But she will not leave such slights unpunished either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Rereading Porrim's talks in the walkabouts, and her views on gender inequality, and I wondered what the Codnesce would have to say on the matter. I doubt she'd be impressed by Porrim's ideas.

“Who am I?”

 

_Who indeed?_

 

“You are the Empress.”

 

_You are my jailer._

 

“And who is that?”

 

“…”

 

There is the sound of the tap of a long rod against a white clothed thigh.

 

 

“Her Imperious Condescension. The highest blood on B…on Alternia.”

 

She catches the mistake in time she hasn’t mentioned her home. The Condesce smiles instead, dragging the long birch against her leg.

 

“And who are you?”

 

“Porrim Marya – ”

 

 

“I said who are you?”

 

“… _Porrim Mary_ – ”

 

 _THWACK_.

 

The blow is enough to make her grunt, and fall back. The Condesce hasn’t even moved from her seat.

 

“I…”

 

The Condesce watches.

 

“I am nobody.”

 

“And _what_ are you?”

 

“I am nothing…”

 

The rod twitches. Porrim watches it with darkly rimmed eyes. They don’t bother to make her skin smooth and flawless for this. Her hair hangs dirty and clumped about her face.

 

_That’s for being paraded about. For being made an example of._

 

“I. I am a jade blood.”

 

The Condesce considers her.

 

“Good. And what does that mean for you?”

 

“It means I…”

 

“Yes?”

 

_It means nothing. I am as worth as any other. I have no obligations, you can’t control me, they can’t control me –_

 

The rod taps once, twice.

 

“…It means I serve the mother grub.”

 

The lessons are long, Porrim reflects, and they take their toll. The words sting to say, but they sting less that the rod.

 

“And?”

 

“…and that is all I am good for. That is all I deserve.”

 

 _Lies_.

 

The Condesce smiles again, and slouches down in her seat. Her robes open at the chest and hips, displaying gold lined legs and the contours of breasts. It’s not dissimilar to what Porrim used to wear.

 

“And the Grand Highblood, the Orphaner…the Expatriate. What are they?”

 

“Highbloods.”

 

 

“What _are_ they?”

 

“… _Better_ than me.”

 

“Yes. Why?”

 

_They’re not they’re not they’re not THEY’RE NOT_

 

“Because their blood is higher than mine. They’re worth more than me.”

 

_No_

 

“Yes.”

 

Tyrian pink eyes fix her, “Not because they’re male. Not because you’re female. After all, what am I?”

 

“The Empress of Alternia, in command of all you see.”

 

The Condesce looks at her with sympathy that stings more than the hits. “And I’ll _always_ be worth more than them. And _they’ll_ always be worth more than you. Because your blood is low, because you’re a traitor, and because your only purpose, should be to serve the mother grub.”

 

The Condesce stands, and bends down to pat the cheek she’s been striking.

 

“Your walk is in an hour. The servants will help you prepare.”

 

_The servants will help hide away what I do to you under silk and powder and shapeless robes._

 

Porrim dares to not reply, and the birch comes down one final time, hard enough to send her sprawling across the floor. She tells herself, bitterly, that the tears are reactive. No one could be hit like that and not cry.

 

“Yes, Empress. Thank you, Empress.”

 

_What an honour, to serve you and the mother grub, Empress._


End file.
